0 Commenti
0 condivisioni
2 Views
0 Anteprima
Elenco
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Effettua l'accesso per mettere mi piace, condividere e commentare!
-
The Distant ThresholdThe banquet hall of the Ironworks smelled of roasted pheasant, stale beer, and the metallic tang of the new machinery that had just been installed in the lower foundry, a scent that seemed to seep up through the floorboards and into the soles of their shoes. Captain Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long oak table, his uniform pressed and immaculate, though his eyes held the dull, glassy...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Golden CircuitThe ink on the page is not black, but a deep, arterial red, and it smells of iron and wet earth, a scent that has become so intimately woven into the fabric of Silas Thorne’s existence that he can no longer distinguish the smell of his own sweat from the smell of the land itself. He sits at the heavy oak desk in the back of the general store, the wood scarred by decades of knife marks and...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Wistful SkylineThe coat was too heavy for the season. It was a charcoal wool thing, thick and stiff, the kind of garment that seemed to absorb the light around it. I wore it every day, even when the air in the town of Harrow Creek turned crisp and clear, even when the sun hung low and golden over the rooftops. It was my anchor. It was the only thing that felt like mine in a world that had slowly,...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded RoadThe ink on the ledger is still wet when you realize you have been betrayed. It is a Tuesday, the kind that smells of damp wool and coal dust, inside the iron-walled office of the Ashworth & Sons Textile Mill. You are holding the pen, the nib scratching against the paper, but the sound has stopped in your ears. Outside, the looms are clacking like the teeth of a hungry animal. Inside, the...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Golden MythYou wake with the taste of iron and old paper in your mouth, the metallic tang of a life spent in the service of a machine that grinds people down to dust, and you are back in the dormitory, the one with the peeling paint and the windows that look out onto nothing but the grey, indifferent fog of the industrial district, where the air is so thick with soot that it seems to have a weight, a...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Pale BridgeThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a thick, suspended mist that clung to the wool of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s coat and seeped into the marrow of his bones, turning the damp stone of the interrogation room into a living, breathing thing that seemed to inhale the silence and exhale the rot of the old year. He sat on the metal chair, which was cold enough to burn through the...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Golden CellarThe rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the sky, a persistent, gray mist that clung to the slate roof of the St. Jude’s Home for the Unfortunate and the Unwanted, a place where the air always smelled of boiled wool, lavender water, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the Refectory, his hands trembling not from the cold that seeped through the...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe rain fell like a curse on the cobblestones of Oakhaven, slicking the black flagstones until they mirrored the bruised sky. Silas Vane did not feel the cold. He felt only the heat of the iron in his hand and the thrum of his own pulse, a heavy, dull drumbeat echoing in his ears. Around him, the market square was a chaos of shouting merchants and fleeing children, but Silas moved through it...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
-
The Faded RuinThe frost had not yet taken the garden, but it had taken the light. It was a grey, watery morning, the kind that hangs in the air like a held breath. Elias sat in the chair by the window, his hands resting on the arms, knuckles white. He watched the wisteria. It was dead, or nearly so, stripped to bare, gnarled bones against the slate sky. A year ago, it had been a cascade of violet, heavy with...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek